Advent Requiem
by wonderbread9
Summary: AU-“He has done it,” Dumbledore whispered in horror. James looked at him sharply.“He’s done what?” he asked, blue eyes wide behind his glasses. Dumbledore met his wide gaze.“Voldemort has destroyed the heart of the world.” Please Read & Review!
1. Part One: The World Before

Title: **Advent Requiem**

Author: **wonderbread9**

Website: N/A

Genre: AU (or AR? Um…), slash, Het.

Rating: PG-13, R for later parts

Pairing/Characters: Draco/Ginny, Sirius/Remus, Remus/Neville,

Ron/Severus, Hermione/Harry, Albus/Minerva, Lucius/Voldemort, Lily/James, Crabbe/Goyle, Arthur/Molly, Peter Pettigrew/Ron (one sided), Mudungus Fletcher, Tonks/Moody,

Summary: In the darkness, light can be found

Warnings: **It's an AU-ficlet, but the characters remain the same…well, under the circumstances. What do you get when you combine zombies and Harry Potter?**** A fic of epic proportions of course! I've been steadily working on this fic since I read The Order of the Phoenix. It follows its own story line from when Lily, James and Harry was attacked by Voldemort those many, many years ago. After that event, well…Things get a little weird. Bare with me.**

Author's Notes:** I am an adamant fan of slash…Particularly that rare pair of RW/SS & RW/PP; however, those pairings most definitely are NOT the focus of this fic. Also, I don't care how the series ended or who ended up with whom. If I did, then this fic would have a few canonical elements, wouldn't it? **

**OoO**

**ad·vent **(dvnt): The coming or arrival, especially of something extremely important.

[Middle English, _the Advent season_, from Old French, from Latin adventus, _arrival_, from past participle of advenre, _to come to_ : ad-, _ad-_ + venre, _to come_; see gw- in Indo-European Roots.]

**req·ui·em **(rkw-m, rkw-): a.) A mass for a deceased person. b.) A musical composition for such a mass. c.) A hymn, composition, or service for the dead. [Middle English, from Latin, accusative of requis, _rest, the first word of the mass for the dead_ : re-, _re-_ + quis, _quiet_; see kwei- in Indo-European Roots.]

*

**PART ONE: **

**The World **

**Before**

**I.**

Place: Godric's Hollow

Time: October 31st, 1981

OoO

_/BEWARE/…_

It was a strange, ghostly whisper that woke her on the pale, gray morning of October 31st. The rain went pitter-patter against the foggy windows of Godric's Hollow as James stirred restlessly in his sleep, and Harry sat, peeking his head above the gate of his baby bed with watchful, curious green eyes, sucking absently on his pacifier. He waited for her expectantly, fat, pink one-year-old arms outstretched, reaching.

Lily Potter yawned, rubbed her eyes and stood, feeling that brush of something strange drift across her mind as she went over to her waiting son and scooped him into her arms. She breathed deep and steadied herself, before turning to Harry's frowning green eyes and smiled.

"C'mon, love, let's get you something to eat before Daddy wakes up and gobbles up everything." She turned on her heel, ready to step forward and proceed to the kitchen—

_/Beware/…_

—and nearly stumbled, arms tightening instinctively around Harry, as a cold chill rushed up and down her back like freezing, wet fingers tracing their way over the ridges of her spine. Lily gasped in surprise, laying a free hand on the door frame to regain her footing and breathed deep. Harry pulled his pacifier from his mouth and made a dismayed sound, wriggling in her arm. She stood up right again and brushed the moppy black hair from Harry's face, smoothing out his frowning forehead.

"It's alright, Harry," she cooed. "It's alright." But she wasn't sure, and in Harry's semi-mystical state of one-year-old wisdom, she was sure her son didn't think so either. She continued to the kitchen with no further incident save the growing sense of something…/just something/…crowding her stomach, a premonition that something was coming. She sat Harry in his high chair and picked her wand up from where she left it the night before when Sirius and Remus had come over. As she waved her wand and a bottle flew out of the cupboard, positioning itself under her wand's tip and warm milk poured from the magical wood, she recalled that night in great detail.

It had started out as a personal call: Sirius with his barking laugh had come with mischief gleaming in his eyes and Remus with his quiet smile had helped Lily put Harry to bed before the two of them had joined James and Sirius in the living room. There the conversation had shifted from the glad old days of their time at Hogwarts to the current threat that hung over everyone's heads, wizards and muggles alike.

"You know, there are rumors that Voldemort's put a price on your heads," Sirius said in a hushed whisper as if speaking the Dark Lord's name would bring him down upon their wary heads. James wrapped an arm protectively around Lily's shoulders and frowned fiercely.

"Voldemort's not going to get us here," he replied confidently. "Dumbledore's put so many wards around this place, it's hard to cast any magick without tripping one of them off. You've no idea how many times he's flooed us warning us to keep our casting down to a minimum. S'gotten so bad that all we can really do is make Harry his milk and Accio a few things across the house."

"That's all the casting you _should_ be doing," Remus said ruefully. "Handle it all the Muggle way. Cook your own meals, do your own laundry. The least likely it is for Voldemort to find you, the better."

James sighed. "I just wish this bloody war would be over with. I'm sick of not going out because one of his blasted spies might see us."

"We don't have much choice, James," Lily replied, finally speaking up. "For our sake, for Harry's sake, we've got to keep safe. When Dumbledore tells us it's alright, first thing we'll do is take Harry to a park, or the beach or anywhere our hearts fancy."

James grinned at her and kissed her forehead lightly. "Lily, whatever would I do without you?"

"Whither and die, I suppose," she replied sweetly. To that, everyone laughed.

"She's got you there, mate," Sirius said between barks of laughter.

"When hasn't she?" James replied in a sour tone.

"Still," Remus said sobering the group up immediately, "you've got to be careful. These are dangerous times now. Not like back at school when you two—" he glared pointedly at James and Sirius who both flashed him looks of pure innocence—"could fool around and do what you wanted. I want you to promise me, James, Lily, that you won't do ANYTHING unless Dumbledore tells you."

James sat forward and took Remus' hand in his, and it was the first in all the time that Lily knew him, that the mischievousness fell from her husband's face completely. Even when he had promised Dumbledore the same thing not too long ago, he had still had that typical James Potter gleam of mischief twinkling in his blue eyes. But now, it was replaced with a look of absolute seriousness.

"Trust me, Remus," he replied and squeezed his friend's hand. "I promise you I won't. Marauder's honor."

Remus uttered a relieved sigh. "Thank you, James."

"No problem," James replied and sat back, putting his arm back around Lily and squeezing her shoulders tightly.

Thinking back on it now, as she handed Harry his bottle and watched him suck the bottle's nipple hungrily, she had a growing sense that they could not--or would not--be able to keep Remus' promise.

"Well, bloody hell," came a sleepy voice from behind. "I wanted some milk, too."

Lily turned with a start as James shuffled into the kitchen with a sleepy smile, his moppy hair sloping messily to one side, his glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose. At the sight of her husband, her troubled thoughts became momentarily forgotten, and he swept her squealing into his arms and planted a messy, playful kiss on her lips. She swatted him away with an, "Oh James, now that was gross."

He said huskily, "You know you love my kisses." And made to grab her again. She pointed her wand at him warningly.

"Keep it up and I'll turn you into a toad," she threatened. He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"You know in fairy tale's the toad always gets the kiss," he replied nonplussed. She rolled her eyes.

"You mean 'frog', don't you?"

"I love it when you talk dirty," he teased. She shook her head, exasperated, as he made his way over to Harry and scooped the baby up in his arms. Harry momentarily removed his bottle from his mouth and offered it to his father. James grinned, said, "Well, I would love to join you for breakfast," and made gobbling noises before assaulting Harry with sloppy kisses. The baby squealed in delight, flailing his little arms and legs, as James spun them both in a tiny circle in the small space of the kitchen. He pulled back and planted a firm kiss on the boy's forehead then put him back in his high chair. "But I don't think Mum here would let me have that bottle."

"No, I wouldn't," Lily affirmed, turning to a cupboard and looking in. James rolled his eyes, turning to Harry and, said in a stage whisper, "Can't say what possessed me to marry her, mate. I think I was drugged."

Harry gurgled around his bottle as Lily whirled on her husband in shock. James snorted in laughter. He smiled cheekily at her as she shot him a dark look and turned back to the cupboard and removed a box of pancake mix.

"You know," James said coming up from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I think we should have one more of those."

She glanced back at him puzzled. "One more of what?"

"Well, you know." His grin was goofy. "Another Harry, of course."

She snorted and reached into the cupboard for a bowl. "Really? And would you be willing to carry…one more of those?"

"Huh?" It was James' turn to look puzzled.

"Yeah," Lily replied, turning in his arms and wrapping her's around his neck. She planted a feather light kiss on his lips. "They've been making advances at the Ministry of Magic. Some new spells and potions and all that."

His eyes widened. James sputtered, "Wa-wa-wait. You mean, blokes…blokes…You mean, blokes…they're…I mean…wait a second."

Lily grinned wickedly. "Oh yes. Makes it easier for the witch, doesn't it? Wizards giving birth and all that."

James swallowed thickly and stepped away from her. "I will not give** birth**," he replied firmly. She smiled sweetly.

"Then don't talk to me about having another one of those." And motioned to Harry, who had finished his bottle and was reaching over the side of his high chair to drop the bottle on the floor. James glared at his wife as she 'accio-ed' Harry's bottle away from him before he could continue with his plan. The baby gave a dismayed cry and glared at her with his wide green eyes. James went over to his son and picked him up.

"C'mon, your Mum's talking crazy," he said to Harry, pointedly ignoring Lily's laughter. "We'll go out into the yard and play in the rain."

"Don't you dare," Lily growled, sobering quickly. "He'll get sick. Play with him in his baby room or so help me…"

"Okay, okay," James conceded. He added a bit quieter, "Mum doesn't know how to have fun anyway."

"Get out of my kitchen, James Potter, and take your rugrat with you," she ordered with a flick of her wand. James snorted and walked out of the kitchen with Harry in tow. She heard him toss loudly over his shoulder, "How d'you like that, Harry? We've been turned out of the kitchen like a bunch of common gremlins."

She shook her head exasperatedly and started on the pancakes, mixing water and the powdery mix into a bowl and stirring both with a simple wave of her wand. She summoned a spatula, oil and a pan over to the stove, turned the stove on and waited for it to heat up. The muffled sounds of Harry squealing from the next room came to her ears, and James crying loudly, "Up, up, up and away we go! Choo! Choo! All aboard the Harry and James Express! Choo! Choo!" Lily smiled widely, turned to the stove, picked up the spatula and—

/_Beware/…_

—dropped it as a wash of cold, cold dread rushed over her body and into the very core of her being. Lily turned this way and that, searching for the source of the dread and, finding none among the nooks and crannies of the kitchen, turned her attentions to the window. It stood across from her, right next to the kitchen's back door, letting in the gray light of cloudy morning. She walked towards it slowly and looked out, but there was nothing out there except a damp, water-logged backyard and some of Harry's toys scattered about. Her stomach shifted, twisting into painful knots of anxiety as she swallowed a suddenly dry throat.

What was happening to her?

Ever since last night, she had had the recurring feeling that something horrible was coming.

Voldemort?

Lily shook her head, not wanting to believe that possibility, but it_ /was/_ a possibility. Perhaps, Voldemort had found out where they were hiding and was going to make his move some time soon. She tried to swallow again and found her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

She had gleaned from the bits and pieces of news she heard from muggle towns surrounding Godric's Hollow that strange occurrences were happening in other parts of the world: fire suddenly exploding in the sky, men flying on brooms firing sparks of dangerous light at each other, women disappearing in and out thin air casting spells and crying out magickal incantations.

The Dark Lord was becoming bold, attacking muggles and wizards alike out in the open instead of in the shadows. He was spreading, reaching his ghastly claws from the wizarding world into the oblivious world of the muggles.

"James!" she called, gripped by sudden choking fear. "James, come here a minute!"

There was a muffled reply before he came walking swiftly into the kitchen with a frown.

"Where's Harry?" she asked. He motioned back the way he had come.

"In his pen," he replied. He eyed her strangely before going to her and wrapping her in his arms. "What's wrong, love?"

"Just something," she answered. She shook her head and hugged him closer. "I don't know what…I just have a feeling…" Her voice trailed off as she met his blue eyes. His look was one of concern.

"Lily, if this is about the other night," he began. "Don't worry. We're safe. Dumbledore wouldn't let anything happen."

"Are you sure?" she asked doubtful. "He's a powerful wizard, James, but he's still human. Dumbledore can make mistakes."

"He wouldn't," James assured her. "Not with us. Not with Harry here."

She shook her head. "But this feeling—"

"Is just that," he said cutting her off. "Nothing to worry about."

Lily wasn't convinced. Even when James planted a firm, loving kiss on her forehead and returned to the playroom where he left Harry, and she turned back to making breakfast, that growing sense of something dark approaching lodged itself in her throat and wouldn't budge.

OoO

"Dumbledore, sir!"

The youth was no more than nineteen or twenty, still a baby compared to the Headmaster's one hundred and twenty years, but as he rushed into Dumbledore's office with a franticly sweating face and wide, panic-filled eyes, Dumbledore cast aside all the wisdom of his old years and waited patiently for the boy to speak. The young man sucked in much needed gulpfuls of air as Dumbledore waited, a snaking tendril of dread curling like a coiled snake at the base of the old man's spine. He inquired, "Yes, m'boy, what is it?"

The young man, brown-eyed and blonde-haired, looked up and swallowed thickly. He answered in a frightened whisper, "It's the Dark Lord, sir. He's planning another attack."

Fawkes let out a high-pitched screech and fluttered his wings as the Headmaster leaned forward, his chair squeaking with the shifted weight. The normal, twinkling blue-eyed gaze that Albus Dumbledore fixed kindly on any visitor to his office was gone. He glared at the young man with an intense stare that pinned him to the spot.

"What do you know?" The tendril of dread uncoiled in the pit of Dumbledore's stomach, twisting a purposeful path through his veins and snaking about his heart. The beating organ was turning as cold as ice as each second passed.

The young man sputtered for a moment and swallowed again. Dumbledore's glare intensified.

"Tell me quickly, child! We don't have much time!"

The young man snapped out of his momentary stupor, sputtered and answered, "Heard it from one of the spies. Flew over here as fast as I could—"

"Yes, yes." Dumbledore waved the boy to hurry.

"Well," the young man looked away, nibbled his lip. "It's the Stone, sir."

"The Stone?" Dumbledore sat back in his chair, puzzled. He frowned. "What about it?"

"The Dark Lord—" The young man swallowed thickly—"he's found It, sir."

Dumbledore's silence was a shocked one as all color suddenly drained from his face.

"He-He knows—" Dumbledore's blue eyes widened in alarm. He stood abruptly, and walking swiftly from behind his desk, said, "Go now. Quickly. To Professor McGonagall. Tell her it is an emergency."

The young man nodded and hastily darted out of the headmaster's office.

Fawkes lifted off from his perch and landed on the older man's desk as Dumbledore went to stand before one of his office's many windows and looked out over the quiet grounds of a Hogwarts blanketed in the last rays of dying evening. The bird fixed Dumbledore's back with a pointed stare and after a moment the old Headmaster turned and met the bird's stare with his own unflinching gaze.

The Stone.

The Stone.

Voldemort knew about the Stone and he…

He was…

Dumbledore breathed deeply, willing himself not to panic, willing that tendril of dread to remain just that, a tendril and not become the grasping fingers of full-fledged alarm. He rubbed a weary had over equally weary eyes.

If Voldemort retrieved the Stone…

If the /_Dark Lord/_ retrieved the Stone…

Then everything—everything—Dumbledore had worked so hard to prevent would come crashing down about his ears. Everything—every victory, every defeat, every lost life and failed plan, everything—would be in vain. It would be as if he had not risen against Voldemort at all.

Dumbledore turned away from Fawkes' glare and looked out over the quiet grounds of Hogwarts. All of this, all the peacefulness of the night with the cold, pinpoints of stars twinkling into existence in the sky, the students he was sure—even now—still playing their mischievous holiday pranks despite the threat of Voldemort, would be destroyed if he did not…

If he couldn't…

Dumbledore did not like these 'what if's' at all.

"What's happened?" came Minerva's frantic question as she walked swiftly into the office with a stricken look. Dumbledore turned to her solemnly as the young man trailed in behind her. Dumbledore waved him away and the young man bowed, leaving the office and shutting the door behind him.

"He's found the Stone," Dumbledore replied simply, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his robe. Minerva's face clouded up for a moment in puzzlement, her mouth forming a vague, "Who?" before her eyes widened and she covered her mouth, aghast.

"He's—He's—" Her eyes widened as she met the Headmaster's weary gaze. "The Potters! What'll we do? Are we too late to warn them?"

"Come," he ordered going to his fireplace and picking up the small bag of floo powder he kept on the mantel. "We will try to floo them."

Minerva nodded and stood behind him, hovering close as he took a handful of the iridescent powder and threw it into the flames. The fires flared up for a moment before Dumbledore spoke, "Potter's Residence. Godric's Hollow." Then waited.

"Nothing's happening," Minerva said, every word laced with panic. "Albus, nothing's happening!"

He waved her silent and tried once more to contact the Potters by fireplace. He tried to will the anxious knot forming in his throat a way, but when he threw the powder into the fireplace with the same result as before, the panic and dread came back to him full-force. He stood upright as Minerva looked first to him then to the fireplace then to him again.

"What's wrong? What's happened?"

"We're being blocked," Dumbledore stated in as level tone as he could muster. "It can only mean one thing." He turned to her as she slowly shook her head. "We may already be too late."

"Have you sensed anything from the house's wards?"

Dumbledore frowned, cocked his head to the side as if he were listening hard for something then shook his head.

"No," he replied. "Nothing. I feel…nothing is amiss."

"A false alarm perhaps?" she asked, hopeful.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No. Not a false…"

His voice trailed off as he looked about his office, studying each hewn stone, each nook and cranny, every painting from Hogwarts' Headmasters and Mistresses of the far distant past to the not so distant, every still tapestry and the other odds and ends that decorated this room. He frowned at every object his eyes lit upon. He met Fawkes eyes for a brief moment before turning back to Minerva with a gleam in his eye.

"Albus…?"

"We must take down the wards…" His voice sounded vague as if he were listening to something from afar and relaying the message.

"The wards?" Minerva questioned puzzled. "I don't—"

"The Apparating wards," he interrupted and gestured a vague hand about the room. "If tonight is the night, and we are too late to warn them, we can at least hope they will try to Apparate onto Hogwarts grounds."

"But they wouldn't know the wards are down, Albus," she replied. "They'd Apparate to Hogsmeade."

He nodded, his gaze as vague as his voice. "But then with the wards down, we can Apparate to them and then bring them back here as quickly as necessary." He turned a hardened gaze to her. "We must…It is the only way to save them."

"We'll need all the teachers to help us," she said. He nodded.

"Then we'll have them," he replied and rested a firm hand upon her shoulder, met her dark brown eyes with his deep blue.

"It is the only way we can save them now."

She swallowed and nodded slowly, placing a hand over his for a moment, squeezing and then disappearing from the office swiftly to gather the teachers for the task at hand. Dumbledore stood for a moment, flexing his hand, staring hard at it, but before he could pause to think—think about anything else except the Potters and the growing sense that time was short—Fawkes screeched and Dumbledore, startled, turned to look back at that ancient bird. He nodded swiftly, once, twice and then left the office.

There was a job to be done.

OoO

_A few more minutes……_

He watched from the shadows through hooded green eyes the flickering shapes of shadows moving across the dimly lit windows of the stone house that sat across from him, a million miles it seemed, but only a few hundred feet or so. There was a child's toy at his feet, muggle-made and he had a moment or two of familiar disgust burn through his blood at that damning object, before kicking it aside. It toppled over in the rain, but the sound was muffled by the muddy dirt and the loud pitter-pattering of watery droplets from the nighttime sky.

"My Lord?"

There was no answer to this query, but the young man who had spoken had long since given up on expecting one. For though the young man with the silvery gold hair and gray eyes had known the man in front of him longer than any of the other hooded men out there with them, had been the recipient of much of his good favor and the hissing voice that spoke of victory as a thing that was already achieved, it was still hard to interrupt him, and calling attention to himself still brought on a tendril of fear.

_A few more minutes until…_

He glanced back at the anxious young man, hidden behind the white death's mask that all of the young men in this select group wore, knowing that that young man was afraid of him, deathly afraid, and smirked.

"Yessss, my pet," he hissed quietly, but loud enough for them to hear over the rain. The young man swallowed, but asked the question that burned in his mind, burned in all their minds.

"My Lord, how long?"

He stared hard at the young man, saw him swallow a dry throat and tremble under the intense scrutiny, saw him fidget with his wand momentarily then—he could almost hear the reprimanding thoughts going through the young man's head like a cold whisper of silk—snatch his hand a way from the wood as if he had been burned, thrust his chin defiantly and meet this scrutiny with his gray, gray eyes of misty mornings and storm-covered seas.

"Sssssoon, my pet," he whispered. "Sssssoon. It issss only a matter of time. And then we ssshall move, like the thief in the night, and take what issss ourssss."

He felt a tendril of excitement and something more rush through the ranks of those gathered with him, felt a dark sense of purpose cloud his mind with the sweet, sinister taste of victory as another one of those shadowed figures moved across the window slowly. It was a woman's shape, holding something squirming in her arms it seemed. A child? The Child?

He felt something slither down his spine as that woman's shape loomed closer to the window and a curtain cracked. He caught sight of flaming red hair through the rain and green eyes that flashed with a worried gleam. It was indeed a baby in her arms, sucking his pacifier and playing absent fingers through her hair. His eyes narrowed into thin, angry slits as the curtain fell and another shape, a man's shape loomed up next to the woman's and the child's taking both in his arms and leading them away. He hissed in dismay.

"My Lord?"

He glanced back at the young man and breathed deep.

"We move," he hissed. "We move."


	2. Part One: The World Before, Part Two

Title: **Advent Requiem**

Author: **wonderbread9**

Genre: **AU (or AR? Um…), slash, Het.**

Pairing/Characters: **Draco/Ginny, Sirius/Remus, Remus/Neville, Ron/Severus, Hermione/Harry, Albus/Minerva, Lucius/Voldemort, Lily/James, Crabbe/Goyle, Arthur/Molly, Peter Pettigrew/Ron (one sided), Mudungus Fletcher, Tonks/Moody, **

Rating: **PG-13, R for later parts**

Warnings: **See Chapter One**

Author's Notes:** See Chapter One**

**PART ONE: **

**The World **

**Before**

**II.**

"I don't like this, James," Lily said holding Harry tightly and pacing back and forth across the living room floor. Her husband sat in his easy chair looking just as troubled as she did. His gaze was drawn towards the merrily dancing fires that burned in the living room hearth.

"You've tried nearly a dozen times to contact him," Lily continued. "Something's wrong. Something must have happened to Dumbledore."

James shook his head and sat back, rubbing his forehead. "There can't be anything wrong. We've gotten in contact with him before. Maybe he's busy."

"All day, James?!" she exclaimed, rocking Harry in her arms. "There's something wrong. I think we should leave."

James firmly shook his head. "We promised Remus. We can't go back on our word."

Lily gave an exasperated sigh. "There's no choice! I've had a bad feeling since they left yesterday and it keeps growing. We /have/ to leave."

James rubbed his forehead again and frowned. "I'll-I'll try Dumbledore again."

Lily sighed again and shook her head as James stood and went to the hearth, gathering the bowl of floo powder he kept on the mantel and grabbing a handful. He threw the sparkling powder into the fires.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," he said speaking loud and clear. "Hogwarts." And waited. When nothing happened, he set the bowl of floo down on the mantel as softly as his nerves would allow.

"Don't say it, Lily," he cut in before his wife could utter a word. "Just don't. Lemme think. Just lemme think for a second."

He started pacing himself, walking back and forth, back and forth in front of the fire place as Lily went over to the window to look out. It was still raining, torrents and torrents, nearly flooding the backyard.

That's going to be hell to clean up tomorrow, she thought. If there's even a tomorrow left.

She felt Harry tug at her hair and breathed, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart. They had to get out of here. The vague sense of dread that had swept over her early that morning now had her firmly in its clutches, filling her being, coursing through her veins, twisting her heart. They /had/ to leave, whether James wanted to admit that to his stubborn pride or not. He came up behind her and drew her into his arms, planting a firm kiss on the back of her neck. She let the curtain fall and let him draw her away from the window.

"We'll be /alright/," James told her in as reassuring tone as he could muster. She met his blue eyes with her green and asked, "Are you—"

All hell broke loose as a sudden loud crash shattered the still air and twisted Lily's stomach into a thousand circus tricks gone awry. She whirled as James uttered a yell and a loud, wailing alarm sounded, filling the air with a resonating scream as Godric's Hollow's protective charms and spells were activated. Someone shouted, "My /Lord/, they were expecting us!"

Lily suddenly felt the bottom drop out from beneath her.

My Lord.

My Lord.

/Lord Voldemort/.

"James!" Lily shrieked, ducking behind a couch as a spell whizzed passed her head. Harry let out a terrified scream.

"Lily! Lily!"

She peeked her head momentarily from behind the couch to find James fending off the attackers as best he could.

"James!" she cried. She ducked behind the couch once more, feeling her throat close up with the sudden onslaught of helplessness and tears. Dear God, what was she going to do? There were so many of them and the house's wards could only do so much. She looked down at Harry whose face was streaming with silvery rivulets of tears, his green eyes widened in fear.

"Don't worry, love. /Don't worry/," she whispered reassuringly. "We'll get out of this."

She peeked her head above the couch again, spotted James firing spells left and right. He was holding his own, but soon he would be overpowered, and they would be left helpless. She ducked behind the couch, breathed deep and cried out as loud as she could, "Accio Wand!"

She felt her magic reach out searchingly for the object with which she wielded her power, and when she found it, her magic summoned it flying through the air. She reached her hand out and caught it deftly then stood, holding Harry tightly, and shouted a number of spells rapidly in succession. Caught off guard, some of their attackers were struck square in the face and knocked out cold.

"Lily, look out!"

She whirled in time to see a spell, a spell the color of lime green fire, a spell that looked as dangerous as the stories she'd heard about it during Order meetings, coming at her and Harry with the speed of freight train and all the evil intent behind it of the dark mind that cast it. She ducked, carrying her screaming baby with her, and felt the heat and fire of it, the /death/ of it, whiz over her head, sizzling the ends of her hair.

"Lily, get out of here!" she heard James shout. "Get out of here before he—"

There was a cry of pain and a sickening thump as a body hit the ground heavily. Lily looked up in time to see James sprawled at an odd angle on the floor, still, with his wand lying a few feet from him. She stifled a cry as agony tore through her with a sharp stab of pain and sorrow.

James could not be dead. He was not dead. He was not. He wasn't. He wasn't. He w—

She felt a helpless sob want to tear its way out of her throat but she swallowed it thickly, holding back her tears and stood, turning to the advancing Death Eaters fearfully as Harry wriggled futilely in her arms, fighting to be free.

"Don't-/Don't/!" she cried, holding tightly to her son and pointing her wand shakily at them. "/Don't come any closer/."

"D'you think that puny defense could stop my Lord," came the drawling hiss over Harry's feeble cries. That voice sounded much too familiar for Lily to want to guess who was behind the mask. But her mind guessed anyway, "Lucius Malfoy."

She could feel the smirk spread across his features even before he slid the mask away and revealed the flawless, patrician features of marble that had won the hearts of many of the underclass girls back at Hogwarts. His gray eyes gleamed and when he spoke, Lily had to stop herself from cringing in disgust.

"Permit me," he said his face still covered in that deadly smirk," to present my Lord, Voldemort."

And in stepped the man himself. Lily felt the color drain from her face as Harry trembled violently in her arms. It was as if—in his own child-like wisdom—he too could sense the presence of evil in the room.

"It issss much the pity that we will have to kill ssssomething so beautiful," Voldemort hissed in a silken tone that chilled Lily to the bone. "But there issss ssssomething here that you have that I want."

Lily shook her head. "Blast you, I won't let you—"

Voldemort growled. "You have no choice."

Lily shook her head again and raised her wand higher. "I'll fight you."

"You've already done that," Lucius scoffed. "And it was a feeble attempt at most. We had more resistance from the Longbottoms."

Lily turned to him, horrified. The Longb—?

The /Longbottoms/?!

/Oh God/.

Lucius' smirk was back.

"Oh how they /screamed/," he said in a mocking tone, his gray eyes gleaming. "Music to my ears."

"You-You won't—" Lily's lips trembled as she cast about her mind for a spell, an incantation, anything to stop the end that was coming. But there was nothing and soon Voldemort was drawing out his wand. Harry burrowed himself deep into her chest and whimpered as Lily looked up, caught in the snare of Voldemort's green, green eyes. They were much deeper than her's, deeper than Harry's, fathomless almost, like the ocean or the sky, bottomless as if you would never find the ending to them and would just keep tumbling and tumbling and /tumbling/ down into eternity. She swallowed and wondered vaguely if the end would hurt.

But before she could wonder any further—

"CRUCIO!" came the angered shout. One of the Death Eaters behind Voldemort gave a surprised shout of pain, falling to the ground writhing in agony. And then another fell and another.

"CRUCIO! CRUCIO!"

"Someone take care of /him/!" Lucius cried, turning. "I thought he was dead, you mor—" Lucius was cut off as a misaimed Crucio whipped past his head. He ducked and fired his own spell.

"James!" Lily cried in relieved joy. Her husband stood firing Crucio after Crucio, taking down Death Eater after Death Eater. Voldemort uttered an angry snarl, turned to her and raised his wand.

"You bastard!" her husband cried and shot a Crucio towards Voldemort.

"My Lord!" Lucius cried and leapt from his place on the floor.

It happened so fast. One moment, Voldemort was standing there with his wand leveled at her head, Harry wriggling in absolute terror in her arms, and then Lucius was leaping in front of James' Crucio, pushing Voldemort of out the way and getting hit with the Unforgivable himself. He let out an inhuman scream as his body fell heavily to the floor and writhed in pain. Lily watched him, eyes wide, swallowing thickly as his beautiful features gathered in a look of horrible, horrible pain.

"Lily, c'mon!" James shouted drawing her gaze away from the grotesque sight. She swallowed again and stood, carrying Harry close and ran to her husband's outstretched arms. "Let's get out of here!"

He took her hand in his as Voldemort recovered from the floor and shouted, "The rest of you after them!!"

"James—!"

"Just keep running, Lily!"

He dragged them on as spells and incantations exploded around them left and right. Harry was trembling against her chest and she could feel his salty tears making wet trails down her skin, soaking her blouse. She wished she could comfort him, wished she could rock him to sleep and protect him from this danger. But she couldn't, not yet, and the pain of that realization sliced through her with more anguish than anything Voldemort could have caused. She was his mother. She was supposed to protect him from danger.

She was supposed to.

The small family finally reached the front door. James whipped it open with a hasty tug, found it was locked. He cursed, aimed his wand at it and fired a spell. The lock exploded with a bang and he kicked the door open, dragging them out into the torrential rains pouring from the sky.

"We can apparate!" he cried over the rains as they continued across the yard. Lily turned as a dozen or so Death Eaters reached the door and kicked it open much as James had done, stepped outside and ran after them with all the intent of a pack of wolves after fresh game.

"What?!" Lily cried. "Where?!"

"To Hogsmeade! We'll be so close to Hogwarts, we can run the rest of the way! They'll never catch us!"

"What about, Harry?!"

James turned and looked back, fired a spell.

"We'll just have to risk it!"

She looked back again, looked at her husband—his face creased in worry, anger, and a thousand other emotions she just didn't have the strength or want to label right then—and finally at the terrified face of her son.

She swallowed.

"Then let's apparate!"

James met her gaze for a split second before gripping her hand tighter and nodding. The world seemed to shift around her for a moment as if the entire universe were leaning in, gathering around them, heeding the power of magick that was to be wrought. The air around her gave a shuddering pop, filling her ears with the sudden pressure change. She felt the heat of an incendio spell charge across her line of vision before the world exploded around her in a thousand colors and sparkles of magic and light. Harry screamed, James uttered one last spell and shot it at the approaching Death Eaters before the small family disappeared altogether.

0o0

Mundungus Fletcher didn't scare easily.

He prided himself on this. When the other members of the Order came staggering into HQ, pale in the face and scared witless, he prided himself on being able to muster up both the nerve and bravado to march back onto the battlefield, fighting the good fight, fighting for the cause. In fact, it was the one of the more memorable deeds in his life—aside from hawking his Uncle Kutcher's time piece for a hefty sum at the tender age of eight—that he could lay claim to.

But, as Mundungus was streaming out of Rosmerta's—him being the last inebriated patron to leave—and he saw the Potter family burst out of thin air looking the worse for wear, he could admit he was a bit concerned; he took them inside immediately and Rosmerta fetched blankets, milk for young Harry and butterbeer for the two exhausted parents. After, he would admit to anyone who cared to ask that he was able to collect himself, but when Dumbledore came streaming in some time after, looking pale with a troubled frown, he was down right apprehensive.

In Mundungus's world, Dumbledore never looked troubled. Dumbledore was the epitome of calm collection. Nothing ever ruffled him—not the casualties reported to him by his various messengers (even though, sometimes, he looked sad at those instances) nor had any of the other mishaps and tribulations that came from fighting a war against one of the darkest wizards history had ever seen.

So, it was with some trepidation that Mundungus lead the older man into the back of the bar's storage room, where Rosmerta was feeding Harry while James and Lily Potter sat on crates of butterbeer, huddled underneath their blankets, sipping at their drinks absently.

"Dumbledore!" James exclaimed when the older man stepped through the doorway. He began to rise. Dumbledore waved the dark-haired bespectacled man to remain seated as he walked further into the room. "We've been trying to contact you all day. Voldemort's attacked Godric's Hollow. We barely made it out alive—"

"I know," Dumbledore interrupted quietly. Lily gave a start. She met Dumbledore's troubled gaze in disbelief.

"You knew?" she cried dubiously. "Why-why didn't you warn us?"

"No time," Dumbledore answered simply and sat on a crate opposite the Potters as Rosmerta took Harry out to the empty bar front and Mundungus followed. He tipped an imaginary hat to both Dumbledore and the Potters before disappearing out of sight. Lily spared him a single glance before turning back to Dumbledore. "There had been no time. I had tried contacting you myself, but when I realized that there was something wrong I was unable to send the other Order members to your aid. I could only hope you would Apparate to Hogsmeade."

"Yes, and now we're safe," James said, wrapping an arm around his wife and smiling in relief. "We'll have to find a new place to hide, but at least—/at least/—there's nothing to worry about, right?" Silence met this inquiry. James turned to look at Dumbledore with a frown. "Right, Albus?"

Dumbledore didn't meet James' eyes.

"Albus?" Lily echoed, concerned. The dread that had gripped her in its twisting hold earlier that day came back full force.

"Albus?"

The older man's blue eyes rose slowly, and he stared at his former students now colleagues.

"I am afraid that everything is not—" Albus struggled—"alright."

Lily's face became anxious as she turned to James, a look of fear passing through her green eyes before she turned back to Dumbledore.

"Tell us everything."


	3. Part One: The World Before, Part Three

Title: **Advent Requiem**

Author: **wonderbread9**

Genre: AU (or AR? Um…), slash, Het.

Pairing/Characters: Draco/Ginny, Sirius/Remus, Remus/Neville, Ron/Severus, Hermione/Harry, Albus/Minerva, Lucius/Voldemort, Lily/James, Crabbe/Goyle, Arthur/Molly, Peter Pettigrew, Mudungus Fletcher, Tonks/Moody

Rating: PG-13, R for later parts

Warnings: **See Chapter One**

Author's Notes:** See Chapter One**

**Part One:**

**The World**

**Before**

**III.**

He whimpered, slamming the flat of his hands against his temples as shock wave after shockwave of pain reverberated through him, squeezing his eyes together tightly. Lucius Malfoy had never felt the effects of a Cruciatus curse cast upon him, had never felt the searing agony that was blazing through his blood stream and exploding into his brain, eroding away all conscious reason or thought save the one instinct to scream and hope the pain would kill him instead of drag him relentlessly down this tunnel of—

He had seen lower men than him subjected to this type of torturous agony. One did not grow up in the shadow of Voldemort's reign without seeing harsher things done to traitorous Death Eaters. He had been privy to one of these sessions, where a man—he could not for the life of him remember the sniveling creature's name—had been subjected to the Cruciatus curse not once but three times with unrelenting cruelty. The man had screamed himself hoarse, slamming his head against the cold stone of Voldemort's manor trying to kill himself rather than endure the pain of one more whispered, "Crucio."

Lucius wanted to fight this anguish coursing through his bones and marrow, wanted to will every last ounce of his being into forcing the green stream of spell and pain to stand back and leave him be, but he was left collapsing to the floor, shivering, as sharp emerald knives of an Unforgivable Curse crushed his thoughts and tore him apart from the inside out.

Even when the pain subsided and he was left only with the barest of echoes of the throbbing shockwaves of it, he could not force himself to move. He stayed where he had fallen, trembling and shivering on the Potters' floor, breathing harsh, ragged gasps of air even as Voldemort crouched by his side and laid a warm, gloved hand along his quivering side.

The Dark Lord watched the echoes of agony play across his face like moving marble in pain as the other Death Eaters piled noisily into the wrecked living room and waited for the Dark Lord to acknowledge their presence. There was a tense moment of silence before a hesitant voice asked, "My-My-My Lord?"

"Well?" Voldemort asked in that silken whisper of his. "Did you get them?" His warm, gloved hand traced a vague line up Lucius' trembling side and rested on his shoulder. His gray eyes flickered open and met the Dark Lord's deep, deep green through a haze of pain.

"My Lord, they escaped."

The Dark Lord hissed his displeasure.

"You should be punissssshed for ssssuch inssssolence."

"But-But My-My Lord," came the trembling reply. "They-They apparated."

But the Dark Lord was not to be denied his anger. He turned to the Death Eater that had spoken, raised his wand and growled, "Avada Kadavra."

The man went down screaming, and Lucius closed his eyes and covered his ears until the man's cries finally died, and he collapsed to the floor, dead.

"My Lord?" came the second trembling voice after a moment of silence. "What are we to do now?"

"Ssssilence, you fool!" Voldemort growled, finally standing, leaving Lucius bereft of that warm hand, and turned to face the gathered group of Death Eaters. "What we have come for liesss within thissss housssse. Desssstroying the Pottersss would have been an added bonussss."

"What lies here, My Lord?"

"The Heart of Godric. The Heart of the World: The Soul-fate Stone."

"The-The-The S-Soul-f-fate, my-my L-Lord?" Lucius asked, rising on his hunches, shaking and trembling with remembered pain. He shuddered and gasped and slumped back to the floor, breathing ragged breaths. Voldemort crouched by Lucius' side, cupped one smooth cheek in the palm of his hand.

"The Sssstone. The Center of all magick, the Center through which all Ley Linessss connect. It issss here, and I have found it."

Voldemort braced a hand behind Lucius' neck, craned him forward.

"Are you my ssssservant?" he hissed quietly. Lucius nodded slowly. Voldemort leaned in and kissed his forehead. "Then we ssshall rule the world."

The Dark Lord turned to look back and motioned one of his Death Eaters forward.

"Quickly, MacNair, there issss a ssspell: 'Sssilenti Ssspiritusss'. We must prepare before the Pottersss return with Bumbledore and hisss cavalry." A twisted grin traced its way across Voldemort's face. "My plan will be complete."

0o0

"He's what?!" James exclaimed standing, his eyes going wide. Lily remained seated, clutching her Butterbeer in whitening hands. She looked up slowly.

"Voldemort," Dumbledore began, "has discovered the Heart of the World. He's—"

"Yes, yes," James cut in, waving his hands wildly in the air. "You've said that. You've told me all that. What I want to know is this—" and he leaned forward until he was eye level with his former headmaster—"why didn't you tell us sooner that the Stone was hidden under Godric's Hollow?"

Dumbledore met James' gaze squarely. "It had been a grave error on my part. I had hoped that the power of the Stone would have kept you safe. And with Harry there—"

"What about Harry?" Lily asked, stirring slightly. A brief frown creased her brow. "What about—Dumbledore? What about Harry?"

"He's important, Lily." The older man turned to James who uttered a derisive snort and started pacing the small expanse of the store room. "He is important. He is—"

"Dumbledore! Dumbledore!" came the panicked cry, and moments later Mundungus Fletcher was bursting into the store room pale faced and eyes wide with fear. "Out-Outside, sir. Outside."

James looked back at Lily as she mouthed 'Harry.' He nodded and she and Dumbledore stood, and all three rushed outside quickly. Neither Rosmerta nor Harry were in the bar front, but the Hog's Head front door was open wide and Lily caught a glimpse of a crowd gathering outside, and looking skyward.

"C'mon," James said, taking her hand and leading her outside. They stopped abruptly at the doorway, looking up.

"Oh my," Dumbledore whispered in disbelief as he came to stand beside them.

It was only one bird at first. A simple black bird, flying in a crazy spiral, screeching loudly and flapping frantically. One bird, then two. Both following its companion, screeching loudly and flying swiftly toward the opposite horizon.

"I don't understand," James said frowning. "What's so bad about a few birds?"

"There." Dumbledore pointed. James turned. Lily gasped.

They were coming like a great black tide, sweeping from the eastern horizon like a unholy, celestial dam had broken and the black waters were sweeping were birds. Everywhere. Large and small, great and tiny, from the smallest sparrow to the greatest bird of prey, the sky was a darker blanket of flapping shapes flying frantically towards the opposite horizon. Their screeching was deafening as more and more birds streamed passed in large black clumps. Their many flapping wings stirred the winds and whipped up a breeze, stirring the trees around Hogsmeade.

"What's wrong with them?" Mundungus shouted over the wild din as he stood beside Dumbledore. The older man watched as a snow owl dived passed.

"They're afraid," Dumbledore replied, his voice carrying over the noise.

"Afraid of what?" cried Rosmerta as she came through the gathered crowd of onlookers and joined Lily. She returned an awake, alert Harry to an anxious Lily and turned to Dumbledore as the older man stepped forward.

"Something's coming," Dumbledore called.

"LOOK!" someone in the crowd shrieked suddenly. Everyone turned to look.

The last of the birds was screeching overhead when they saw what seemed to be a tear, a tear in the sky, as if a great cosmic hand were taking a sharp knife and cutting a jagged line into the very fabric of reality.

"OH-OH MY!!!" screeched a frightened witch from the crowd.

"OH NO! NO! NO!" came another.

"Dumbledore, what's happening?" James asked, panicked. He looped a protective arm around his son and wife.

"He has done it," Dumbledore whispered in horror. James looked at him.

"He's done what?" he asked, blue eyes wide behind his glasses. Dumbledore met his wide gaze.

"Voldemort has destroyed the heart of the world."


	4. Part Two: The City of the Living

Title: **Advent Requiem**

Author: **wonderbread9**

Genre: AU (or AR? Um…), slash, Het.

Pairing/Characters: Draco/Ginny, Sirius/Remus, Remus/Neville, Ron/Severus, Hermione/Harry, Albus/Minerva, Lucius/Voldemort,  
Lily/James, Crabbe/Goyle, Arthur/Molly, Ron/Peter Pettigrew (one-sided)

Rating: PG-13, R for later parts

Warnings: **There's not much to warn about. However, for more details refer to Chapter One**

Author's Notes:** See above**

**PART TWO: **

**CITY OF THE **

**LIVING**

~8~8~8~8~

_Fourmillante cité, cité pleine de rêves,  
Où le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant_

(Swarming city, city full of dreams  
Where the spector in full daylight accosts the passerby.)

--TS Eliot

**I.**

_11 years later……_

It was a very foggy, unwelcome morning that Harry Potter woke to, rubbing blurry eyes and yawning before patting around for his glasses. When he found them, he slipped them on and looked around.

It was mornings like these where he just wished he could curl back up and go to sleep. Mornings when he sat up and looked around at the dingy, cramped-ness of his parents' flat and thought that there had to be something better than this. Sunlight pooled in patches of muddled gray on dust covered floors through windows plastered with so much grime and filth it was a wonder any sunlight could peek through at all. Harry swung his legs over the large bed that he shared with his parents, stretched again and stood.

His mother and father were out again, probably at one of those blasted meetings they had every week that he was not allowed to go to no matter how many times he pestered his mother or puffed out his chest at his father. Unfortunately, it only made James Potter laugh in amusement and regard his son thoughtfully and inform him that he and his mother went to those meetings and discussed "grown-up things, and never you mind what those things are, Harry. They don't concern you."

And he'd wanted to regard his father as thoughtfully as James did him sometimes and tell him that his excuses were hogwash. He wanted to tell his father how worn he and his mother looked every time they came home from one of those grown-up meetings, tell him about the gray hair that seemed to sprout like weeds throughout his father's dark hair and the wrinkles that creased his forehead and fanned out like crow's feet from his eyes; they hadn't always been there. But he knew if he said anything like that, he'd get a fierce scolding from his mother and she'd probably forbid him from leaving the flat on the account that he was being too insolent or was back talking, or something else equally unfair.

So, Harry pushed the thoughts aside and went to one of the less grime-caked windows of the flat and pushed with all his might. The ancient window gave way after much protesting and Harry peeked out to observe the town of Diagon Alley as it woke to the dreary morning, sluggish and old like an ancient crone that's seen better days. There were people already in the streets, moving about as if eyes were watching them constantly, scrutinizing their every movement, their every action. Some were grouped in ragtag huddles, heads bent low, discussing whatever news there was to be discussed. However when a stranger passed, their heads lifted quickly and all conversation stopped, and they glared at the offending stranger until he left.

His frown deepened.

Diagon Alley wasn't that large of a town, nor was it densely populated either. It could, he figured, be considered more of a market hub rather than a town. It had two inns on either end of the Alley that rented out to anyone that could pay: the Leaky Cauldron and the newly built, Laughing Hag. There was Ollivander's and the joke shop, the abandoned and boarded up Magical Menagerie and Gringotts Bank standing tall in the face of the dreary morning, the abandoned Madam Malkin's, Flourish and Blotts, the stationary shop and a host of other buildings that crowded around one another and leaned haphazardly as if a single breeze could knock them over. But with all the people it did have and how closely they lived, he would have thought the denizens of Diagon Alley would be more open with each other.

They weren't.

He observed a group of people huddled in front of The Leaky Cauldron glare heatedly at a man in a top hat and the most ridiculous looking purple- and green-striped trousers walk beside them and into the tavern before they shot the Cauldron's door furtive glances, then ducked back into their conversation when they were sure the man was inside.

Harry shook his head and sighed.

Ron said all the strangeness was on account on what lay beyond Diagon Alley, but when questioned on exactly what lay beyond, Ron would only shake his red head, widen his blue eyes and say that that was all his mother and father would tell him. Harry believed him on account that Ron was one of the few children that lived in Diagon Alley, with his parents in one of the shabbier rooms of the Laughing Hag.

Ron had said plenty of times that he had had other siblings, but they were in other places on account that them being elsewhere kept them safe. When Harry questioned him about that, Ron was strangely silent. It made Harry sore sometimes because Ron didn't keep many secrets from him except those two.

"Oi, Harry!"

Speak of the devil…

Ron was standing in the middle of Diagon Alley's cobble-stoned roadway with a wide, goofy grin spread across his eleven-year-old face, his blue eyes gleaming. His face was flushed and he looked like he was on pins and needles, excited about something.

"There you are!"

Harry stuck his head out farther from the window and called, "What? What is it, Ron?"

If possible, Ron's blue eyes got wider. "It's Zabini! He says he's seen a real, live ghost!"

Harry sighed, humoring his best friend. "He did, did he? A real, _/live/_ one, huh?"

Ron nodded vigorously and grinned. "We're going to go have a look-see. Want to come, Harry?"

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. "You do realize that this is the same Blaise Zabini that told you that he could've sworn he saw a vampire a week ago?"

Ron nodded, his face going hot. "Yes, but—"

"The same Blaise that said he had tamed a baby manticore, but had to release it back into the wild before coming to Diagon Alley?"

"Well, that—"

"The same Zabini that—"

"Alright, alright!" Ron exclaimed, his face flushed a deep scarlet and his eyes narrowed. "But he swears he's telling the truth this time. He saw it, just down Knockturn Alley. At that old shop with the shrunken heads and the poison candles!"

Harry shook his head and sighed, staring at Ron with a skeptical expression, but his friend was staring at him, his blue eyes plaintive and Harry soon found himself agreeing against his better judgment.

"Alright, alright. Just give me a minute."

He ducked his head back into the bedroom as Ron's face broke into a satisfied grin and searched for a clean pair of pants and a sweater to wear. Finally, finding both he pulled them on, located his socks and shoes and hastily pulled them onto his feet while stumbling down the stairs to meet Ron outside.

His parents flat rested just above the Apothecary, and when Harry flung open the door, he was hit with the smell of bad eggs and rotten cabbages that hung about the shop like a second skin. He swallowed the sudden rise of bile in his throat and stepped through the threshold of the shop. It was a fascinating place despite its smell, with herbs, bottles of powders and other odds and ends hanging from the walls. And whatever wasn't hanging on a hook on the wall was set beside jars and jars of floating things—eye balls staring blankly at him as he passed, frozen, miniature animals in preservation fluids, dried plants and bubbling concoctions. Harry looked around wide-eyed, ignoring the look the Apothecary's patron shot him as the older man handled the order of a group of customers.

He finally made it to the front door and gratefully flung it open, emitting a relieved sigh and stepping outside.

"S'bout time," Ron said exasperatedly, but before Harry could reply, Ron had grabbed his hand and was leading him down the narrow streets of Diagon Alley amid the suspicious glares of its patrons and huddled groups of its crowds. They met up with Blaise Zabini, Terry Boot, Theodore Nott and the Creevey brothers, as Zabini was spinning the last of his run-in with the "ghost."

"...He's white as snow and lumbers about like a puppet's whose strings are cut," he exclaimed. "I barely made it out alive!"

"Do you think he'll come to haunt Diagon Alley?" Colin asked his eyes going wide with barely concealed excitement. His younger brother, Dennis, nodded vigorously.

"Yeah, do you think he'll come to haunt Diagon Alley?" he echoed, his eyes just as wide as his brother's. Zabini regarded them solemnly for a moment then glanced back, towards the dark and shadowed entrance to Knockturn Alley.

"Perhaps he will," Blaise said mysteriously, his narrow eyes narrowing even further into brown slits. "And perhaps--"

"/Perhaps/ he doesn't exist at all," Harry challenged, interrupting the swarthy boy's tale with a broad, but warning grin. Blaise glared at him disdainfully as Colin Creevey all but jumped to stand at Harry's side.

"D'you really think so, Harry?" Colin implored as Harry looped an arm around the younger boy's shoulder. Dennis looked just as plaintive as his brother. He echoed, "Yeah, d'you really think so, Harry?"

Harry grinned at the both of them and glanced back at Ron. "Hey, Ron, we're here to see about a ghost, right?" He turned back to Blaise and the others. "I won't believe it until /I/ see it."

Blaise's glare intensified. "Well, then. Come along, /Potter/, and I'll show you." He turned on his heel and started towards Knockturn Alley's entrance. It was a blatant challenge, and Harry knew it. He felt a wash of indignation sweep through him as Blaise stopped briefly at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, waiting expectantly.

"Maybe-Maybe we shouldn't do this, Harry," Ron said glaring at Blaise before turning an anxious expression on Harry. He grabbed the bespectacled boy's arm before Harry could make to follow Blaise. "I mean, what if it's real?"

"What if it is? What if it isn't?" Harry replied not in the least bit ruffled by Ron's anxiety. He continued, "We'll never know if we don't see."

Ron looked doubtful.

"What if your parents find out?" Ron asked, concerned.

"They won't," Harry assured him.

"Coming?" Blaise had his arms crossed with a look of sarcastic expectation. Harry nodded, shooting Ron a wide grin and squaring his thin shoulders. He trailed after Zabini as the boy continued down the alley. Ron followed closely behind and, after a few moments, the other children followed as well.

The atmosphere of Knockturn was gloomier than Diagon Alley, with pools of shadows stretching out from darkened corners and doorways. Windows peaking into closed down and abandoned shops were caked with years and years worth of grime, dirt and spiders' webs, hiding vague, moving shapes as they shifted and scurried about. Harry held his breath as the stench of rotting, decaying things wafted up his nose. He grimaced and covered his mouth with his hand as Ron made a muffled, disgusted noise behind him.

"Just this way," Blaise said softly, barely speaking above a whisper. He waved Harry forward as he stood at the mouth of a smaller alley that dissected Knockturn. Down its twisting path, bright light shone, cutting through the miasmic atmosphere and opening up to what appeared to be a small garden of brown, gnarled, over grown plants and trees choked with the twisting tendrils of vines. Harry waved Ron over. The Weasley boy was breathing hard as he came to stand beside Harry, his freckles standing out in sharp contrast to his suddenly, incredibly pale skin. Harry shot him a look of concern before turning back to Blaise and pointing down the small alley.

"Down this path?" Harry asked. Blaise nodded vigorously.

"The ghost's down that way," he replied. "I think there're two of them, but I-I-I'm not sure."

Harry shot Blaise a look as Ron swallowed and said in a strained voice, "Two? But you said there was only one. How can there be two now?"

Blaise shot Ron an irritated glare. "I could be wrong." But the boy's tone suggested that he felt he was anything but. He turned back towards the small alley. "You going to go see it?"

"What about you?" Harry asked sharply. Blaise shrugged.

"I already ticked it off for one day," he said simply. "Your turn."

Harry snorted, "Oh, honestly! You're telling me there is an actual ghost through there?"

"Blaise says he saw it this morning, Harry," Colin piped up quietly from somewhere behind the bespectacled boy.

"Yeah, just this morning," came Dennis' echo. There was the sound of a scuffle, a cry of pain and Colin hissing in annoyance, "Oi! Knock it off, Dennis!"

"And what exactly were you doing around /here/?" Harry asked suspiciously. Blaise's look was haughty.

"Nothing that concerns you," he replied ruefully.

Harry glared at him suspiciously, but the swarthy-skinned boy looked away and down the alley.

"Are you going to go or not?" Zabini asked, haughtily. "Honestly, Potter, one would begin to think you were just stalling."

Harry snorted and grinned wickedly. "I'm not stalling. Not in the slightest." He shot Ron a mischievous look; the red head groaned. Harry turned back to Zabini. "We'll find your ghost alright." And grabbed Ron by the arm. The red head's eyes widened as Harry started purposefully down the alley.

"Wait! Harry, what're you--Wait! Are you going to see the--mmfmp!"

"Just come on and keep your voice down," Harry hissed as they drew closer to the overgrown and tangled garden. He could hear Ron's frightened breathing, and could feel the eyes of the others on him and Ron, drilling holes into their backs, as they made their way towards the twisted garden.

He couldn't say for the life of him what was possessing him to do this. He shouldn't have even been here, in Knockturn Alley, in the first place. His mother and father had strictly forbidden him to go anywhere beyond the boundaries of Diagon Alley, and sometimes not even then. The only other place he was allowed to go by himself was the little room Ron shared with his parents at the Laughing Hag Inn. But here he was, blatantly disregarding his parents' wishes, knowing full well that if something happened or if he were caught, his mother would fillet his hide.

"I really hope there's no ghost," Ron whispered quietly. The dark haired boy glanced back. If anything, Ron's face was paler and Harry could feel the trembling beginning under Ron's skin. He flashed him a brief grin, and whispered back, "It'll be alright, Ron. Don't be such a worry wart."

"Easy for you to say," Ron hissed back. "You don't have to face the wrath of my mum if she finds out."

You have no idea, Harry thought, but said aloud, "Just don't /worry/. We'll go back there, show Blaise for the fool he is and then everything'll go back to normal."

"Normal," Ron scoffed, with a knowing snort. Harry glanced back at him with a perplexed frown, but before he could ask him any questions about what he knew, they were at the mouth of the alley, standing before a large garden that Harry knew at once had been magnificent at one time. He heard Ron gasp as he stepped forward, peering at every brown shrub, clump of decaying bushes, tree stumps and twisting vines that seemed to curl over everything and choke the life out of it. He turned in a wide circle, green eyes going wide.

The garden was like a tiny alcove of privacy away from the rest of the world. It did indeed sit beside the magical supply store that Ron had mentioned earlier, but the weeds and trees and vines obscured most of the view to the outside world so that it was very easy to believe that he and Ron were standing in a new world devoid of life. He turned to Ron with a wide grin as the red head shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked a loose stone from the hundreds of the cobblestone walkway that snaked around the garden.

"See?" Harry said triumphantly, spreading his arms wide. "No ghost."

Ron looked relieved and studied the garden himself, his entire body visibly relaxing. "You know, Harry, that's the last time I listen to Blaise about anything." He stepped further into the garden, taking his hands out of his pockets and stooping to finger a twig that rested twisted and bent at an odd angle on a rock protruding from a large hole in the walkway. He picked it up and swished it in the air once, twice, and then tossed it aside with a speculative look.

"What d'you think he did see?" Ron asked as Harry went to stand beside him. Harry shrugged.

"Who kno--"

And then very suddenly Harry fell silent as his ears picked up the faint sound of a moan, the rattle of something like chains and the slow, arduous shuffle of dragging feet. Ron's hand was suddenly gripping his arm like a vise; Harry winced and stifled a cry of pain. Ron turned to Harry with a frightened look. Harry held a finger to his mouth and pointed in the direction the sounds originated, then he motioned for Ron to follow. The red head shook his head vehemently and pointed back the way they had come, back down the alley where the others probably still waited.

"Please," Ron mouthed, his blues eyes wide saucers. Harry pursed his lip then motioned for Ron to stay put. He pried the other boy's hand from his arm--Ron's eyes went wider still as he realized what Harry was going to do--and stepped away, towards the noise. Ron let a whimper escape his throat. Harry glanced back at him, held up a thumps up then turned forward and headed for the noise. He didn't have to go far, just round a bend in the walkway and step forward a few feet. The sounds grew closer as he approached, and Harry felt the first tendrils of fear take hold of him. What if Blaise was right and he really /had/ seen a ghost? He felt light headed all of a sudden and stopped for a moment. He glanced back, but a thick tangle of overgrown weeds prevented him from seeing Ron.

He heard the rattle of chains again and deep throated groans, and frowned thinking, "Ghosts can't /breathe/."

But he couldn't ponder that train of thought for long. He turned back to the direction of the sounds and screamed.

0o0

Ron heard the scream and his most immediate, instinctual thought was to run, run back to Diagon Alley and the comfort of the Hag Inn, where his mother and father waited, run back to where he knew he was safe and pale ghosts could never touch him. But he couldn't just leave Harry. What if the ghost got him? What if the ghost hurt him? Or worse yet, killed him? So Ron swallowed thickly, and with tendrils of fear curling through his gut, went the way the Harry had gone, going around the bend that Harry had disappeared around. He swallowed again, breathed deep and continued forward until he saw Harry on the ground staring in fright at a boy--a pale, pale boy the color of snow, his hair so platinum blond it looked almost silver. His fingers were reaching forward blindly and his eyes, pools of grey, stared sightlessly forward as the chain secured around his waist rattled and he moved on unsure feet.

"Are you—Are you a ghost?" Harry asked in awe and fear as Ron stepped forward, watching the …whatever the boy was…warily, crouching at Harry's side.

"You're okay?" Ron whispered, and Harry nodded eyes transfixed on the boy.

"Who's—Who's there?" the boy said in voice that sounded like parchment and leaves rustling on gravel. "Who are you? I know you're out there, I can hear you."

"Are you a ghost?" Harry asked again, louder this time. The boy's head swung to the direction of Harry's voice and a sneer covered his delicate, porcelain features.

"Do I look like a bloody ghost, you ninny?" the boy snapped, aggravated.

Ron watched Harry rise slowly and the boy's hands reach and reach, straining through the air to touch…Ron frowned at him as a thought occurred to him.

"You're…" Ron hesitated as Harry circled the boy slowly and the boy whirled, hands straining to touch Harry, but falling short as Harry kept out of his way. The boy turned to Ron, sneered.

"I'm what?" the boy snapped, haughtily.

"Blind?" Ron suggested, cautiously. The boy suddenly went very still and very quiet as his eyes darted left and right, slowly, as if they were trying to focus on something, but couldn't.

"You are, aren't you?" Harry asked, going closer to the boy and poked him in the arm. He gave a strangled cry and whirled, grabbing Harry's hand and twisting it painfully. Harry shouted in alarm and pain.

"Ow! Let me go!"

"Try that again, you," the boy growled, angrily, "and I'll rip it off."

The pale boy twisted it once more for good measure, causing Harry to emit a sharp intake of breath in pain, before letting go. He stood still, crossing pale arms over a thin chest, the sneer back in place on his face as Harry retreated, rubbing his sore hand.

"Who are you?" Ron asked, careful to stay out of the boy's reach. The boy didn't answer immediately. The haughty look stayed secure on his face, even when he turned, groped the chain at his waist and, tugging himself forward, followed the chain back to wherever it lead. Harry and Ron followed, close enough so that they wouldn't lose him, but far enough away that he wouldn't grab them or hurt them. The boy tugged and pulled himself along the chain until it ended at the front doorway of a ramshackle home, squished between two abandoned shops. The boy, after groping some more found the front step of the house and deposited himself on it, sitting up straight and staring straight ahead expectantly.

"Well?" Harry asked. The boy turned his head sharply to Harry's direction, his grey eyes meeting Harry's unflinchingly as if he could see the dark haired boy. Harry swallowed apprehensively, but the other boy's eyes slid to the cobble stone walkway before him, darted left and right, unseeing.

"Well, what? And why did you follow me?" The boy asked, his tone superior as if Harry and Ron were the ones with the defects and not him.

"Who are you?" Ron repeated, his voice timid.

"We just wanted to know who, or what, you are," Harry replied. The boy snorted and shook his head. A sardonic smirk twisted his features.

"Come to laugh at the freak, have you?" the boy growled, anger lining every word. "Well, I'm not having it! You all can go back to you friends and tell them to stay away. Away me and away from here!"

"We're not coming here to laugh at you," Harry growled back, his voice firm. Ron shot him a look before swallowing and replying, "We just wanted..Harry's right. We're not here to laugh."

The boy's grey eyes narrowed and he sat up straighter, and even though he was seated and they looking down at him, he managed to look down his nose at them.

"Why should I trust you?" the boy hissed. Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged, before Harry turned back to the boy and moved forward, approaching him cautiously. The boy's head cocked to the side, listening intent to Harry as he moved closer. Ron saw his hands curl into tight, white knuckled fists and started forward, just in case the boy decided to use Harry as a human punching bag. Harry waved him away though, having seen the boy's fists himself.

"Don't worry," Harry assured with a smile the boy could not see. "My name's Harry, and this is Ron. We live in Diagon Alley. Just a little ways away from here."

The boy's look turned thoughtful, guarded but still thoughtful. His fists visibly relaxed and Harry took a careful seat beside the boy while Ron hovered anxiously over them, watching the boy warily and watching Harry to make sure he didn't need to suddenly come to his best friend's aid. The boy's head swung from Harry to where Ron stood and back again. He swallowed, his grey eyes darting back and forth in their unfocused, unnerving way.

"I'm…" the boy paused, his expression considering, as if giving up any part of his identity would cost him dearly. He finally sighed, squared his shoulders in a proud sort of way and said with the dignity only reserved for royalty and the offspring of monarchs: "My name is Draco Malfoy."


End file.
